Hostage
by officeladyhikaru
Summary: Kyouya is the third son, but that's not his only handicap. He almost despairs in proving himself on par with his brothers, but then his father gives him a job: to take care of a very special guest - or shall we say a very special hostage? [Feudal Era AU]


Author's notes:

- Glasses were introduced in Japan sometime during the Sengoku era by European traders. For the purposes of this story, glasses are not yet commonly available, nor is everyone aware of the existence of such a thing.

- I cut my teeth in writing Kyouya in _Crash_, but my experience with him does not come close to my experience with the Hitachiins. Therefore, I welcome any feedback.

* * *

No one ever noticed Kyouya. Which might have been just as well, because that would have made it easier to observe things - if not for one problem. From the time he was old enough to walk, his world had been getting smaller and smaller. By the time he was nearly waist-high, he could not see much farther than his outstretched arm, and had the misfortune of having let people know as much.

And that was how it happened. Unlike other boys his age, it was deemed that it would be useless to teach him archery, or javelin throwing, or swordplay, or anything but the most elementary hand-to-hand combat. He never even got to ride a proper horse - that is, one that was trained for battle. And that made sense. No one with his condition would last a minute on the battlefield, and although there were two older sons, it would not do to waste a third on an end that would be futile. For a while, they thought of sending Kyouya off to become a monk, away from a world at war, but his mother had just fallen ill, and begged for him to stay for he had always been her secret favorite.

For that reason, Kyouya had reached the age of fourteen and was neither a woman nor a man, living in a floating world between the outer and the inner courtyars. The women's quarters, or the inner yard, was where he spent his time when the men were off on campaigns, tending what he liked to call "his flock" of bedridden mother, sister Fuyumi, "artist"-in-residence Mitsouko Haninozuka and her pet rabbit Usa-chan, and numerous other ladies in waiting. An extended visit from Kyouya always meant much glee in the women's wing, for they deemed him unparalleled in reading poetry, playing the koto, or simply listening to their worries when the occasion called for it.

In the men's quarters, or the outer yard, he did little mixing with the other samurai, instead spending his mornings under the tutelage of the head of accounts, for after his future as a scholar fell through he discovered he had a head for numbers. And that was just as well, because it almost soothing to sit by a window in the fresh air and flick the abacus beads with a rhythmic click, and enter numbers into a large record book. The work was largely technical, but even so he had found many ways to cut corners over the years, and the accounts manager was always very impressed and gave him tasks that were increasingly complicated. But he was also never banned from listening to the other men's stories over meals - and glorious and awesome stories they were, though Kyouya suspected that a good half of the awesomeness and glory was a product of voraciously consumed sake.

Of course, he went about talking to many other people, too - the ones who lived outside the main house gates. Kyouya always talked to everyone, whether he admired or despised them, because one never knew who might prove useful. Indeed, he had decided that if his eyes could not see, his tongue and ears would have to do double duty. And so he talked to the cooks, and to the smiths, to the horse grooms and the sake brewers and the basket weavers. He even talked, quite often, with an equally observant page boy named Haruhi, who was actually a girl and in his debt for covering up when she broke a priceless vase.

And life might have been good for Kyouya Ootori, if as the years went by he did not come to realize that his father barely spoke to him.

He spoke to his brothers plenty, and at first he thought it was because they were a good ten years older. But then he realized that the things they talked about made very little sense and involved words he did not understand, and to that end, he began reading tactical books by famous generals, hoping he might find aught to contribute. But when his second-oldest brother Akito found him at the task, he had laughed at him.

"A man who has never seen the battlefield has no business directing armies," he had said. "I would stick with counting pennies, little brother. One day, who knows, you might just count them all."

And from that day day a black resentment began to grow in Kyouya. The books he had read by the ancients had always taught him that knowledge, not might, was power, and that every skill - even that of a thief - had the potential to save everything under the right circumstances. And so, though he knew he was lacking he had always tried to believe that understanding things from the inside would help him gain the upper hand in the end. But he had never seen any proof for his beliefs, and Akito had only made plain what Kyouya already suspected. Times had changed, and in a world where violence was always at the gates and men did not know what would get them first - the hunger, the cold, or the marauding bands of samurai - the only way to fight fire was with fire, and there was only one way men could end up on top.

Thus, given the circumstances, when his father called him in to speak to him alone, nothing could have prepared Kyouya for his question.

"Kyouya, what do you want to do in this life?" the patriarch had asked. The silence hung thick under the rafters, and Kyouya sat - as custom demanded - too far away from his father to see his face.

What did he, indeed? And why did it matter? There was no way he could step outside his frame, not the least because his frame ended an arm's length away, and even going out and seeking death would be more foolish than glorious.

His father waited, and Kyouya decided, at length, to tell the truth, for there seemed to be no better alternative.

"I want to be a military leader like you," Kyouya said. "But I don't think that's possible. Akito said a man who has never seen the battlefield has no business even sitting on a war council."

"Did he?" said Ootori senior, shifting with a light creak of the tatami mats. "That is not necessarily true, you know. All good leaders are expert manipulators, and have a keen understanding of resources, mechanics, and their fellow man."

He paused, reaching over to something by his side, and Kyouya's heart suddenly beat so furiously he saw the surface of his robe twitch.

"You have a limitation," his father went on, "But that does not absolve you from my expectations. In fact, in some ways I expect even more from you."

Kyouya looked down at his knees. He could not believe what he was hearing. Across the way, his father's blurry form looked like a large, black mountain with steep sides.

"We just negotiated a cease-fire with a neighboring clan," the patriarch continued, shifting back into his original position with a rustle of mats. "Not peace or alliance - just a non-aggression pact. Part of the agreement was their daughter should come here and be kept for security. I thought, as a trial, you might try your hand at looking after her. So she remains happy and does not try to run off, or feed them information about us, or anything equally stupid. If you can do that, I will offer you a seat on my council."

The elder Ootori paused, the mats creaking again as he shifted.

"Any questions?"

"Which clan?"

"The Hitachiins."

"Oh. I was not aware they had a daughter. I was told they had two sons."

Yuzuha Hitachiin, the matriarch of the Hitachiin clan, was known for her battlefield exploits in her youth, and was still a formidable general who headed her husband's war council. The head of the clan had captured her in battle and married her so he could have a brave son, and the Hitachiin twins did not disappoint him. Though they were barely fourteen, the Ootori banner men who met them claimed they were already a force to be reckoned with, and knew how to wield two swords apiece simultaneously.

"So we all thought," the Ootori patriarch replied. "But it seems one is actually a daughter who looks exactly like her brother and fights by his side."

"Ah."

"Takes after her mother, I suppose. Similar fox spirit." The elder Ootori cleared his throat into what looked like his fist. The light streamed from the window in thick, nearly opaque flows. "At any rate, it is best to keep one's friends close and one's enemies closer."

"I will not disappoint you, my lord." Kyouya gave a deep bow, pressing his forehead to the floor.

"Remember, she is not a bride, nor is she a prisoner." The patriarch sniffed what might have been a laugh, and the next time he spoke there was a hint of smile in his voice. "She is, if you will, a guest - and you are the host. So she is the one you must strive not to disappoint."

* * *

Right now, this story is on hiatus for a couple more weeks because of 1) exams and 2) my inability to decide if Kaoru should be male or female. Obviously, the plot will be different depending on his gender. Right now, I am leaning somewhat towards female because I really enjoyed writing a genderbent Kaoru in one of my other fics and because my beta wants it, but if you feel strongly either way, please go vote in the poll in my profile.


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